


Find Yourself

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive, Protective Steve Rogers, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, bucky barnes needs hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky had obsessive self harm tendencies. Steve needs him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Yourself

_You’re filthy. You are disgusting._

 

Bucky scrubbed his metal fingertips more aggressively over his skin, obeying the intrusive hiss in the back of his head. He turned the heat of the water up until the dial clicked in protest. He felt the burning intensify on his already raw skin.

_You are not doing a good enough job. Scrub harder._

Bucky coughed out a growl, the frustration leaving him in a stiff wave. Again he obeyed, dragging his fingers back and forth until the skin underneath surrendered and split, blood running down his forearm and colouring the bottom of the shower pink.

Relief rolled through his chest, taking him to his knees. He kneeled on the bottom of the shower, letting the scalding water melt away the shame of his loss of control. The usual ache in his left shoulder, where the metal rivets joined with the bone, subsided a little under the heat; the only comfort in the bleak moment he found himself trapped in.

_You’re still not good enough._

“Please,” Bucky sobbed out, holding himself steady to stop the tears from rocking him, “Please, I’m _tired.”_

There was movement outside of the bathroom. Bucky held his breath, stifling the tears so that he could hear.

“I’m back!” Steve called out.

Bucky felt the dread rise. He had not expected him back so early. Looking down at his red, raw and bleeding arm, the dread grew.

 

“They let us off early. The new management are driving me crazy, let me tell you. Did you know that I don’t get to go on independent missions anymore? Can you believe that? I mean, I’m pretty damn sure I can look after myself, ya’know? They need to stop treating me like a freaking kid, I’m…98 or something. I stopped counting. Anyway, you okay?”

Bucky swallowed hard, preparing to speak but finding no words that could would reassure Steve from his place on the other side of the bathroom door.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice filled with concern, like something inside him had been switched on. A warning light.

 

The Captain paused with his hand hovering over the bathroom doorknob.

“Say something to let me know you’re okay Buck,” Steve pressed, the silence cloaked by the thumping of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Just give me a minute,” Bucky said quietly, “I’m okay.”

Steve relaxed, but only minimally, not convinced by Bucky’s tense and teary reassurance through a locked door. He waited, listening to the sounds of rushed movement and metal fingers clinking against porcelain surfaces. The door opened and Bucky flinched a little at seeing Steve standing in the threshold.

“You’ve been crying,” Steve frowned, reaching out to press his thumbs against the pink, rubbed patches on the apples of his Bucky’s cheeks.

Bucky caught Steve’s hands, putting them back at his sides gently.

“No,” He lied, “No, I’m okay.”  


He forced a smile that did nothing to shake Steve’s growing trepidation. The Captain pulled him forward into a tight hug, the type reserved for moments like this when Steve felt that if a hug was all he could offer, he would try and make it the best hug he could manage.

And it was, until Bucky felt the familiar heat of blood seeping through the long sleeves of his t-shirt, hastily donned before he had left the bathroom.

_Crime scene._

Bucky pulled from the warmth of Steve’s chest before he could notice. Unsuccessfully.

“Christ, Buck. Your arm!” Steve exclaimed, reaching to pull up the crimson-spotted sleeve.

“It’s nothing,” Bucky assured, “Really, just leave it.”

Steve shook his head, putting one arm on the small of Bucky’s back to anchor him in place and using the other to pull up the sleeve. Bucky realised the unavoidability of the situation and decided that avoiding all eye contact would be the only way to make it less humiliating.

“Who did this to you?” Steve asked flatly, half knowing the answer, and half hoping that he would be surprised with a less troubling explanation.

Bucky shook his head, keeping it lowered.

“We can stand here all night or…“

“Me, Steve. I did it,” Bucky admitted, pulling away sharply and walking towards the bedroom with flaming cheeks and shivering hands.

Steve followed behind, pulling Bucky towards him and turning him around. The sergeant went to protest but was again silenced by warmth and pressure.

“Shh,” Steve soothed, “Don’t worry. Let’s just get you out of this shirt and all cleaned up. Don’t worry about it.”

The Captain fought to keep his voice steady when his mind buzzed with plans and possibilities. The cuts clearly weren’t knife of razor slashes. He recognised the pattern from things Bucky had accidentally scratched or grabbed too hard in the past. There were marks just like them on the edge of the coffee table. This made Steve reel even more. He couldn’t just take away a weapon or a razor. The weapon was physically bolted into Bucky’s skeleton, fused like a metal tumour. It was part of him and it could do so much damage. Steve had felt first-hand how hard those fingers could grip when Bucky didn’t even want them to. He thought back to the time that Bucky had accidentally broken his wrist during sex. He would have chuckled at the memory of them both sitting naked and stunned by the incident, holding Steve’s wrist between a package of frozen corn and dictionary to make a makeshift splint, but he was far from amusement in light of the scene playing out in front of him.

Steve watched as Bucky pulled the stained shirt over his head. The sergeant’s cheeks flamed up crimson with embarrassment as he revealed the rough nail tracks all over his arm and chest. Steve fought to keep a straight face; Bucky looked humiliated enough and he did not want to make that worse by being overly upset by what he saw.

 

“Alright,” Steve sighed, gently moving Bucky’s arm to get a better look at the marks, “They look pretty clean. Wrapped up, they’ll heal real fast.”

Bucky nodded. The movement made the tears his eyes had managed to fend off until now spill down his cheeks. Hastily, he brushed them away.

“I’m not mad, Buck,” Steve reassured quietly, reaching under the bed for their well-used first aid kit.

“I promise you, I’m not mad.”

Steve unravelled some gauze, holding the blue role in one hand and winding it rhythmically around the other. It was another of Dr Banner’s formulations. He had designed it so that it wouldn’t bind to Bucky’s skin like standard bandages. Bucky healed at an advanced rate like Steve, but the process was messier and less smooth, a product of the bastardised version of the serum that he had received.

Steve started at the armpit, wrapping the first layer tightly and loosening as he went.

“One day,” Steve said softly, “You won’t have to worry about all this. You’ll get better, you won’t hurt as bad, you’ll be less angry, less scared. The memories with get less vivid, so will the guilt. I promise.”

Bucky nodded slowly, watching as Steve methodically twisted and secured the elastic gauze around his arm. He leant forward, closing his eyes and resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. Every few moments, the bandages would catch on his skin and Steve would apologise quietly, pressing the area and wincing sympathetically.

“What if it doesn’t, Steve?” Bucky asked, lulling into the rhythm of the bandaging, “What if I’m…stuck?”

Steve shook his head insistently. He secured the last swathe of bandage in place and lifted his hands to Bucky’s cheeks. Something small flickered in Bucky’s eyes, anxiety or fear. The residual tension around being touched. Steve moved his hands down to his shoulders and felt him relax.

“I won’t let that happen,” Steve whispered, “I don’t care if we have to fight every day for the rest of our lives, I will see you happy, I will see you safe. I need you back. _You_ need you back.”

Bucky smiled and pressed his nose against Steve’s. He did need himself back. He was half way there.

 

 

 

 


End file.
